


Broken Pieces of You and Me

by becca_letters



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becca_letters/pseuds/becca_letters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer:  Gossip Girl belongs to someone who is not me.  I do not make any profit from this and am basically just borrowing Dan Humphrey for his body.</p>
<p>Written for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/stainofmylove">the lovely and talented stainofmylove</a> and her prompt: gossip girl, blair/dan, i don't want to be responsible for your fractured heart and its wounded beat.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Broken Pieces of You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Gossip Girl belongs to someone who is not me. I do not make any profit from this and am basically just borrowing Dan Humphrey for his body.
> 
> Written for [the lovely and talented stainofmylove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stainofmylove) and her prompt: gossip girl, blair/dan, i don't want to be responsible for your fractured heart and its wounded beat.

He spends the first few days after she leaves in a drunken haze. Too sad to be angry, too lonely to cry, too scared to fight. He thinks of all the nights Chuck Bass must have done the exact same, drowning himself, blocking out any feeling with 50-year-old Macallan, while Dan choses cheap beer. The only downside to it is the sheer amount of beer it takes before he even feels a buzz, much less forgets everything. The green glass bottles are scattered over countertops, chairs, even some on the ground of the loft. He's tripped over them once or twice already, smacking his face on the hardwood floors his father bought after selling an expensive painting at the gallery.

He settles down at his computer a million times, turning on a movie, dozing through it, waking up to check his messages, hoping to find out that Blair has changed her mind, that somehow this, the last few days of his life, has been a dream, a misunderstanding, anything but the harsh truth staring him in the face.

He opens a fresh word file intending to write out his frustrations, but nothing comes. His fingers hover over the keys, a million words flowing through his head but none of them are in the right order, none of them make any sense logical or otherwise.

He puts his head down on the hard desk and closes his eyes. Her image is burned there, as brilliant as if she were the only light in the room, but instead of her filling him with the warmth she had been, seeing her makes his breath feel like acid, scorching through his throat until he claws at his neck and his eyes.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out carefully, eyes opening again to his bleak reality. 

_I never meant to hurt you._

He reads the text over and over until the words blur on the screen. Then he throws the phone as hard as he can against the wall. It fractures into pieces like chunks of the relationship they might have had.

He closes the laptop, the empty bottles clang and crunch under his feet, some of them breaking, some already broken. He feels a sharp pain and looks down to see a shard sticking out of the side of his foot. He continues on to the fridge, leaving droplets of blood behind him. 

Eventually he might remove it. Eventually he might text her back telling her she's a bitch, calling her out about her abusive relationship with that asshole, reminding her about how he hit her, sold her, paraded her around like she was a whore. 

Eventually he might have to think about recycling some of these bottles or cleaning his apartment.

But not yet.


End file.
